Ackley's Journey
by keith71
Summary: Events of this short story take place after Holden's disappearance from Pencey Prep. A confused Ackley visits the big city in search of Holden, but runs into a few troubles of his own.


I pounded on Holden's door, shouting, "Hey Holden, ya in there?"

After a good 30 seconds of rigorous knocking, I was punished by God as Stradlater answered the door.

"What do you want Ackley? It's 5:00 in morning." A pissed off Stradlater asked of me. He looked like he hadn't gotten any sleep for like five nights. The bags under his eyes were heavy, He wasn't wearing a shirt. Typical Stradlater, always wanting to show off his damn body. He was too conceited. I don't know how people could stand such a guy.

"Put on a shirt for chrissakes, willya." I mocked.

"Dang it Ackley when will brush teeth for once? Your halitosis is stinkin' up the whole room." replied a very annoyed Stradlater. He was always annoyed. He didn't like talking to people he thought were inferior to him. According to my teacher, Mr. Spencer, it was called something like the "inferiority complex" or something like that.

"Ackley, if you ain't gonna speak up, I'll happily go back to my bed." uttered Stradlater as he slowly closed the door.

Luckily, I stuck my foot inside the room before the door fully closed.

"Where's Holden?" I asked bluntly. "I heard you and him got into a fight last night. He came down to my dorm looking for a place to bunk. He was beaten to pulp by you. I guess he slept in Ely's bed or something. I feel asleep on him and when I woke up, he was gone."

"How the hell would I know where the bastard went?" Stradlater's voice was raised. "For some reason the guy got beat up was because he threw the first punch. The guy was hella pissed off at something. I swear he's insane, a lunatic even."

"Where is his stuff?" I asked

"Gone. His suit case, his clothes and everything." he responded. Stradlater wanted to look like that he didn't care, but I could tell he was worried.

"Did you nail her?" I asked.

Stradlater's eyes lit up with fire.

"Of course not." he snapped. But something fishy was up with his response. I feel as if Stradlater was holding back. I knew Jane and Holden had a thing back in the day, only cause Holden mentioned it once. He doesn't mention any of his personal life often.

"Tell the damn truth for chrissakes!" I exploded.

But all Stradlater did was give me a hard push – I fell on my ass. Then he slammed the door shut.

I managed to lift myself up. I wiped my ass and I figured I might as well get ready for mass. I mean its Sunday and all. I went to my room. First thing I did was cut my fingernails. There was a huge hangnail that bothered me and all. After I finished I praised my effort. Clean nails are often overlooked by guys like Stradlater and Holden. People care too much for their bodies to care about the small details. And some people don't give a crap at all. I changed into my church clothes; a white dress shirt with a black tie, a matching pair of black slackers, and black vintage leather lace-ups. I even slicked back my hair.

But just as I was about to leave, I stopped. I thought about Holden. I don't know why I did, but I did. I wondered where he was. Was he still in Pennsylvania? Did he go upstate? Damn it. Where was the bastard? Wait a minute; he has family in New York City. He must be there

For some explained reason, I took all my cash, about ten dollars. I forgot to undress. Then I hitched a ride on a bus. It was a boring two hours I had to endure. There were at most 5 people on the bus at one time. Most of them were dead-beat drunkards with scraggly beards spending most their money on cigs and beer. I didn't converse with them. I wondered if Holden met guys like these if he took the bus. I wonder if he would actually talk to these dead-beats. He probably would.

When i arrived at the station, my ass ached for a good ten minutes. I hate long bus rides. For chrissakes, why don't they just provide us with decent seats instead of using damn tires?

It was half an hour till noon. My stomach was craving for some good chow, but there weren't any good restaurants around, just a bunch of shady diners where hobos went for a good meal. I ended up going to a bar just a few blocks away. There were very few people in the bar, just a few men and the bartender, who was a female.

I quietly ordered a soda. I don't drink alcohol. That crap is disgusting. It deteriorates your health. I also order a burger for about fifty cents. It was filling and not half bad.

But thing's turned for the worse when one of the bar guys came over and sat next to me. He was an old dude. About sixty-something. He dressed in bell bottom denim and a red long sleeved plaid shirt. It matched with his red-rimmed glasses. He had one of those scraggly beards that digusted me. I bet there were crabs and lice living in that damn beard.

"Wanna drink bud?" he asked with his toothless grin.

"Back off man. I'm under aged." I scooted down one chair hoping to stay away from the guy. But he scooted down one too.

"Cmon' man, just a bit of scotch won't hurt you. My treat." he offered. He was a shady guy for sure. But I guess I ought to at least try the drink. So I made the mistake of taking up his offer.

He shouted to the bartender as if he knew her well. "Penelope, gimme a glass of scotch for this kid."

"Kid." That pissed me off. The bearded man put his dirty arm around my shoulder. I tried to resist, but he was too strong for me. When the drink slid down the table he finally let go. "Try it." he said.

I never really drank before except once with my papa. Only that was like five percent alcohol this is an entire glass of scotch. I lifted the glass toward my lips. Miraculously I chugged down the shot.

I left the bar. The skies were cloudy. I guess I was about to rain. I made my way down the streets and avenues of New York. I had no idea where I was heading. The temperature was freezing. I regret not bringing a jacket. It was so cold that I almost forgot I why I was even here.

I felt like that scotch gave me a damn headache, but I guess I was just imagining things. I looked like a lunatic trampling through the 7th street, drenched to the bone.

I thought I finally saw Holden because I saw his dorky red hunting cap, but was on the head of a little girl. I saw her briefly before she entered a museum of some sort. I could have sworn that was Holden's cap, but maybe I was just hallucinating. I mean I was just probably drunk. And who in the world would wear a dorky cap like that for chrissakes.

It was about 3:00 pm, when it started pouring hard. I regret not bringing an umbrella. I figured I might as well hop back home. I had no chance of finding Holden.

The bus ride was terrible as usual. The seats were of crap quality. But on a stop in Philly, a man hopped in. He wasn't a scraggly-bearded shady guy like the usual passengers. He wore a black suit and wore a very expensive looking hat, probably imported. His shoes were of higher quality leather. The funny thing was, he sat next to me.

I mean out of all the damn seats open, he chooses to sit next to the guy who was soaking wet. Who the hell is this guy?

"There are plenty of seats open, man. Just sit in one of those." I pointed to all the seats, but he sat next to me anyways.

"Want a cigarette?" His words were so slurred that I could tell he was drunk. When I got a good look at his face he was red-eyed and tired-looking.

"Your drunk man. Go home." I responded, ignoring his question.

"Want a cigarette?" He repeated holding out a Marlboro. I have never smoked in my life. It causes lung cancer or so I heard. I told Holden that, but I he never listens.

"Sure." I didn't know what I was thinking. I took the cigarette and he pulled out a lighter and lit it up for me. Like it was instinct I put the damn thing in my mouth. Then after a while I pulled it out, puffing out some smoke, as if I was a natural. I really didn't know why I even took it.

The man smiled, and he stood up. His stop was just one from ours.

"Thanks man." I said

"No problem. Glad to help." he replied with a grin on his face as he left the bus.

It was 5:00 pm when I got home. When I entered my dorm mate, Ely wasn't there yet. The cigarette tasted like crap. How did Holden smoke this for chrissakes. I soon realized Holden's habits influenced my behavior today or something.

I went to the rest room. I looked in my bag and pulled out a toothbrush. Never have I used it. Then I applied some of Ely's toothpaste and brushed my teeth. I don't know why I did. Maybe it was so I could get that nasty ass scent of cigarettes out of my breath.


End file.
